


I'm not going anywhere

by orphan_account



Category: Batman (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Superman (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Asexual Damian, Bottom Damian, Dom damian, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Future AU, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Death Batman, Major Character Death Superman, Porn With Plot, Riding, Sub Jon, Suicide mentions, Top Jon, death mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 07:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13359054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A fic set in the Justice League of the Future where Jon and Damian have become not only Superman and Batman respectively but also a couple. Unfortunately there are still some lingering issues to be sorted out. Thankfully they have each other. Porn with light plot.





	I'm not going anywhere

Burning monster never smelled the same twice, Superman thought as his heat vision cut into the blubbery flesh of what resembled a massive extra-terrestrial squid. According to Batman it was biologically closer to an amoeba, didn’t stop the rest of the team calling it the space squid.

The beams of bright red light slice through its iridescent blue skin and into the thicker layer of fat below that starts to boil. The dripping fat seals the wound but the space squid’s flailing shows it felt it at least. A flick of tentacle catches the Flash more by luck than design and Superman quickly darts over to catch him before he can hit anything hard. The Flash gives him a grateful smile only visible to those with the enhanced vision that came with super speed as Superman puts him down.

“Alpha team, we’re holding our ground but we can’t drive it back any further.” He reports in the League communicator.

“Beta team, still holding but it’s fighting hard.” Wonder Woman reports in afterwards.

“Gamma team, we’ve evacuated the civilians but we’re losing ground, where’s Batman?” Green Lantern reports from the other side of the battlefield.

A brief flash of shadow cuts off the sunlight and Superman smiles. It’s almost ironic, he was being cut off from his source of power and he was comforted, because in the sky streaking down at supersonic speeds is a black bat-shaped plane. The air screeches and hums as it is violently torn apart.

“I’m right here.” Batman gives the signal over the coms.

What happens next takes less than a minute from marginally suborbital to ground.

With his super vision Superman can see the Dark Knight himself, face drawn in a snarl as he fights the G forces to keep the plane on track. It is a subtle difference from his usual snarl but Superman was something of a connoisseur by now.

The plane falls almost exactly like the blade of an axe, plunging down, down, down and for less than a second Superman feels a jolt of fear as he realizes Batman isn’t going to pull up.

He leaps into the air at super speed, already accelerating to match the plane’s speed.

“Eject!” He half-yells into the commlink, trying and failing to keep the panic from his voice.

“A direct aerial strike to the center of the creature’s mass will stop it, this was the plan we agreed on.” Batman replies through clenched teeth.

“I didn’t agree to you still being in the plane when we did it!” Superman argues. Good thing the commlink is picking up on the movement of his throat and transmitting it as sound; the air around the plane is too chopped up to possibly carry speech.

“I need to be in the plane to direct it to the target; we’ve got one shot at this.” Batman’s reply is cold and practised. “Get back to your position Superman.”

The fall from orbit to earth is nearly complete. The space squid writhes below them, unaware of what doom is descending on it from above. In a second it will wonder what the sound is that shakes the wreckage around it, but by then it will be too late and not just for the squid.

“Damian!” Superman screams as the plane plunges down on its fateful final journey and slams into the space squid with a final boom that shakes the ground and raises a massive cloud of choking dust.

The pointed wings of the plane penetrate through the slimy skin and blubbery hide and shatter on impact, splattering the wrecked buildings nearby with the alien’s inner juices. Severed tentacles fall limp and lifeless to the ground, to the relief of the fighting heroes.

Even with his enhanced senses Superman isn’t sure he saw it or if it was just hope; Damian had waited until the last possible second, adjusting for the final swipe of a tentacle that crushed the plane’s left wing before being severed by the forces. He ejected at less than the last second, at the last possible infinitesimally tiny moment before impact.

Superman catches him in his arms.

“Damian!” He nearly sobs with relief.

Batman slaps him. It has considerably less effect than hitting a brick wall; Superman is sure his hand must be hurting, but it is the thought that counts.

“What do you think you’re doing Jon?!” He shouts and the com link conveys it over the sound of settling debris below.

“I…” Superman stutters, still not sure how to handle this after so many years with his angry friend.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t eject?!” Batman tries to kick him in the ribs. It is equally ineffectual but unexpected enough for Superman to nearly drop him.

“Damian, you can’t fly.” He argues plaintively.

Batman glares at him, the cowl being surprisingly expressive when he wanted it to.

“I have a parachute you absolute idiot. You never should have left your position and don’t use names on the job _Superman_.” He hisses.

“….You just called me Jon.” Good lord, was he letting things go to his head? Why was he deliberately antagonizing someone already angry with him?

“Mind keeping your lover’s spat off the open channel you two?” Wonder Woman’s drily amused voice comes over the coms and Batman looks like he just thought a dirty word.

“Noted.” Batman makes the familiar ‘we will talk about this later’ gesture to the sheepish Superman. “Put me down. Now.”

Superman carries him to the ground. He can’t scan through the suit but Batman is sitting a little awkwardly in his arms, in a way he knows means he is injured but trying to pretend he’s not. Not everyone had his invulnerability or Flash’s friction shielding to deal with high speeds.

“Report.” Batman orders as they land next to the wreckage and he is standing at ground zero. The plane had broken up from impact, meaning it hit first as a sword-like blade, then shattered into a shrapnel bomb to shred the alien’s insides. There were shards of black metal embedded as far as the eye can see.

While the space squid lacked guts, it seemed to have a near inexhaustible supply of goop. The puddles rose to waist height in some places.

“This doesn’t look very non-lethal.” Green Lantern snarks in Batman’s direction.

Batman wordlessly strides forwards and plunges his hand into the deepest part of the puddle. A rock-hard ball the size of a basketball and an uncomfortable shade of fleshy purple pulls free with a glorp.

“Its nucleus, I told you it was amoeboid.” He throws it at Green Lantern who constructs an oversized catcher’s mitt to avoid having to touch it herself. “Contain it.”

He looks at his team, all had taken cover in time to avoid being hit by any stray bits of Batplane but not all had avoided the following wave of goo.

“Good job everyone.” He tells them. “The hardest part is over; now it just clean-up and damage control.” He raises one gloved hand to cut off the sighs and moans he knew was coming. “However I want everyone to take an hour break before we make our official press statement, and it is my official recommendation that includes a bath. Is this acceptable to all present?” He asks.

There are nods and vague sounds of affirmation from the rest of the team.

“Then we’re agreed, Watchtower, place this site on lockdown, send in the clean-up drones and transport us to decon.” Batman orders through his coms and light engulfs him and drops him in the decontamination showers.

He lets his head hang back as cleansing foam fills the room with bubbles then dissolves, leaving every inch of his armor fresh and clean. He steps from the door marked with the symbol of the bat and looks down to the door emblazoned with the crest of House El.

“Superman, a moment.” He asks with his tone steely.

Superman visibly shrinks at the tone.

“Sure.”

Superman meekly follows Batman back to the Dark Knight’s rooms within the Watchtower. Once the doors slide shut behind them Batman takes off the cowl.

“Jon what is this about?” Damian asks him.

“I was worried about you.” Jon says meekly.

Damian gives him a steely look, his blue eyes so much like his father’s, and Jon feels the same shiver of guilty fear he felt the first time he saw the first Batman.

“Jon, the agreement was that I would open about my feelings if you agreed to not assume I should ‘just know’ what your feelings are and provided equal disclosure. Do you wish to terminate this contract?” Damian’s tone is clipped and clinical, words falling neatly into place like he was building a tower out of them.

Only years of experience of dealing with Damian’s moods told Jon how upset he really was. Damian still held his emotions back behind a barrier of detached professionalism. He had been trained well to hide any sign of what he was really feeling before it could be used against him but Jon’s super senses picked up tiny things, micro tones and micro expressions, that showed how he really felt.

Damian felt hurt, and not just emotionally, Jon realizes with a guilty jolt. His training to hide pain was extensive but he is favouring one shoulder. The impact had hit harder than the others would pick up on. The crushed wing must have affected the cockpit during ejection and Jon would have only made it worse when he caught him.

“No.” Jon replies and Damian sighs.

“Then what is prompting this undue attention?” Damian asks as he stretches out. A brief flicker of pain passes over his face as he rotates his left shoulder. “Do you think I am not capable of handling myself on the field of battle?”

“No Damian.” Jon mutters sulkily.

“Did you honestly think I wasn’t going to eject?” Damian asks icily. “Did you think I was going to die to take down a protoplasmic glob of alien snot?”

“…No.” Jon confesses and Damian narrows his eyes at the pause.

“So you think me suicidal.” He states.

Jon looks at him pleadingly.

“Damian, it’s not like that…” He starts to say.

Damian holds up a hand to stop him.

“Save it Jon. My brother always said you had to be a bit suicidal to do this job. I dare to challenge gods with nothing more than my fists, my wits and some black-painted armour. I know that I am the most physically vulnerable member of this team; however you know better than to compromise a mission. I was prepared, you know I was prepared.”

Jon hangs his head in shame.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

Damian raps his forehead with his knuckles.

“What is this _really_ about?” He asks. “I am your friend, you can tell me.”

“…Last night I had a dream…” He says, carefully avoiding Damian’s eyes. “I was a child again, watching my father die.” He hangs his head as he fights back tears at the memory.

“…It was a good death.” Damian says and puts a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “But he would want you to remember him as he lived Jon, not how he died. I am not seeking a good death Jon, I am looking to live.”

Jon wraps his arms around Damian’s shoulders in a tight hug and Damian flinches at it puts pressure on his bruises. His hands remain at his sides; he didn’t enjoy these over-the-top gestures of affection but he understood how Jon relied on them. The armor of the Batsuit rubs against his wounds and he supresses the pain, not fast enough for Jon not to notice.

“Sorry!” He yelps and quickly lets go.

Damian rests a hand on the back of his head to stop him from pulling back.

“It’s fine.” He is blunt. “Just not so tight.”

“You’re hurt!” Jon’s face was so honest; he still displayed his emotions so clearly. Damian can see the concern on every part of his face. It was hard to believe Jon was capable of lying, an asset Damian had deliberately cultivated when he gave him lessons in deception.

“Would you feel better if I let you look at it?” Damian asks him.

Jon nods and Damian sighs a small sigh as he undoes the plate of one shoulder. A flower of red veined with purple has started to bloom across his shoulder and now his back.

“See, it is nothing.” He says to soothe. “Just some bruises, they will heal. You’re not going to lose me.”

“I worry about you Damian…” Jon says softly.

“Stating the obvious again Jon?” Damian smiles a flicker of a smile and sits on the edge of his bed.

He pats the sheets beside him. Jon sits next to him. Damian wraps his uninjured arm around Jon’s back.

“You don’t have to worry about me Jon. I’m not going anywhere.” He tells him. “I promise.”

Jon rests his head against Damian’s shoulder.

“You never let anyone help you Damian.” He says. “I am afraid one day you’ll need me and be too proud to ask…”

“I spent my years as Robin with my father hovering over my shoulder, ready to drag me back home when he thought I couldn’t handle myself. I don’t need to be watched all the time Jon. I will ask for help when I need it, and I need it less often than you fear I do.” Damian tells him.

“Promise?” Jon asks, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. “Promise me you’ll ask for help?”

“I promise Jon.” Damian says.

Jon leans in and touches his lips to Damian’s. Damian’s face remains unreadable.

“I want to know you’re okay…” Jon says as he strokes his fingers over one armor pectoral. “I want to know you’re not going to leave me alone…”

“Jon…” Damian strokes his fingers through Jon’s hair. “You’re not alone, you’re never going to be _alone_. You have friends, you have family and you have me.”

He kisses Jon back.

“You will always have me Jon.”

Jon wraps his arms around Damian’s arms around his shoulders again, less tightly this time, and Damian strokes his fingers down from Jon’s hair to his broad back. He sighs but there is a fond smile on his face.

“Situation three?” Damian asks him.

“Yeah…” Jon nods and presses their lips together again.

Damian opens his mouth a bit to allow Jon to slip his tongue inside. He is hasty, overeager, he must really be rattled. Damian strokes soothing circles on Jon’s back as he returns the kiss.

Damian did not possess a libido; it was an easy to exploit weakness that had been engineered out of him before his birth. He wasn’t averse to sexual activity (at least, any more than he was to any activity involving both trust of another and physical contact), in fact it could be outright enjoyable, he just didn’t have any particular attraction towards it. Romantic attention, having someone he could talk to, someone he could trust with his heart, _that_ he craved like a drowning man craves air. He loved Jon, there was no question of that. He loved Jon and couldn’t let that love become a weakness.

Jon’s skin was above the median temperature for humans; his hand had the warmth of one that had been lying in sunlight. It was a warmth he felt more often from Jon than from the world outside. Gotham’s night was his, but the sun lived in Jon’s hands.

“Strip.” He orders and there is a colored blur of motion and a swish of disturbed air.

There was a short-list of people who knew how to safely remove the Batsuit and Jon was at the top. He had even taken the time to put the clothes away neatly rather than leave them in a crumpled heap on the floor. He appreciates that; his room was as much an organized haven as the cave, whereas Superman’s room was a mess.

Jon returns to the bed and cups Damian’s cheek in a silent request to resume kissing. Damian is the one who leans in the rest of the way to seal the kiss. Jon’s hands wander over the curve of Damian’s bare back, ghosting over the patches of mottled bruising.

“Anything broken?” Damian asks him between kisses.

Jon’s pupils dilate as he checks over Damian with his X-ray vision.

“Not even cracked.” He reassures him, though Damian got injured enough he’d probably be able to tell if it was.

“Good.” Damian doesn’t want Jon hesitating on behalf of his bruised shoulder. His hand strokes down Jon’s chest and Jon bites back a gasp as Damian rolls a nipple in his fingers.

“Dami…” Jon sighs.

“Dami _an_.” Damian puts the emphasis on the last part of his name. He hated nicknames.

Jon’s kisses trail down until he is mouthing at Damian’s neck. His stubble scratches Damian’s skin.

Jon hasn’t shaved today, he used the excuse that having to use his heat vision to remove the invulnerable hair was too much hassle but Damian knew it was because he didn’t want to look like his father. It was the same reason he always kept his cheeks cleanshaven. A small sign that they were living beings apart from the legacies of their fathers.

“Damian…” He breathes as his arms curl around Damian’s middle. His hands trail down Damian’s stomach. “Damian, I love you.”

“I love you too Jon.” Damian whispers back and turns his head to kiss him again.

Jon’s breathing is becoming heavier. His warm body presses up against Damian’s. Their tongues curl slickly together, hot and sweet and heavy.

Damian breaks the kiss and stands. Jon’s eyes drag appreciatively over his body. Damian had learned from his brothers nearly as much as he had from his father; his body is muscled but lean as suited a fighting style that emphasized mobility over power. Sleek, deadly muscle, like a panther, he moved like oiled midnight when he wanted to and he stood completely unashamed of his nakedness.

Damian had hit a grown spurt but he was still a few inches shorter than Jon (the ears on the cowl helped hide it) but he stood with a supreme confidence in who and what he was.

Damian put a hand on his chest and pushes him on his back. Jon plays along and looks up at Damian like he had stars hung in his eyes.

Damian’s hand pushes his head back down against the bed as he straddles him. He takes a few moments to stroke his fingers through the soft curls of dark, invulnerable hair before he drags his hand further down.

Jon tenses under him and Damian’s hand stops.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Damian asks.

Jon’s voice sticks in his throat, he clears it.

“Yes Damian.” He says.

Damian smirks smugly.

“Good.” He says as he drags his hand further down, caressing the toned muscle of Jon’s abs, and applying a bit of pressure.

Jon makes a small moaning sound and Damian’s grin grows.

The half-kryptonian is already growing hard without being touched. Damian continues to press touches to Jon’s stomach, his sides, his thighs, combing his fingers through the pubic hair, outlining the area but touching Jon everywhere but where he wants it most.

Jon moans and whimpers and gasps, tiny sounds that betray his feelings, but he doesn’t beg, not yet. He keeps his hands firmly at his sides.

One of the conditions of this relationship was that Damian had control in the bedroom. Damian was sensitive to touch, and not in the fun way, and being held in the invulnerable arms of a partner he couldn’t fight sparked his fighting instinct. He much preferred this to introducing kryptonite to the bedroom and Jon preferred knowing that Damian wasn’t at risk of being hurt by his super strength. Besides, Jon rather enjoyed bottoming from the top; Damian was hot when he was in control.

Damian leans in to kiss him, and as he does the distance between their bodies shrinks to a fraction of an inch of heated air. Jon has to fight to not buck his hips at how close Damian’s body was to his own. Damian captures his lips in a slow, lazy kiss. One hand cups Jon’s cheek, directing him in the kiss, while the other caresses his chest. It flicks a nipple and Jon tenses again.

“Good.” Damian hums to himself as he draws back again.

There is a flush on Damian’s cheeks and as he draws back his arousal is flush with his stomach, naked and unashamed. Damian straightens up and looks around for the belt. There is another flare of colored light, a whoosh of displaced air and the weight of it drops into his hand.

He looks back down at Jon who has repositioned himself perfectly back under him. Damian raps his forehead with his knuckles.

“No powers.” He scolds. “For that you’re going to watch.”

He undoes the clasps of the belt and removes the bottle of lubricant, throwing a judging look at Jon’s untouched erection as he does so.

Damian makes sure Jon’s eyes are on him. The clear scentless fluid drips onto his palm and across his fingers, Damian spreads them briefly to make sure it coats the digits evenly, then sets the bottle down beside them.

Jon’s eyes are fixated on him and Damian takes a small joy in having his undivided attention.

He settles back and lets his lubricated hand slip behind him. He traces a brief circle around the rim of his entrance before pushing lightly in with his index finger. He bites his lip, seemingly in concentration rather than an attempt to be erotic but Jon’s reaction is the same. Damian pushes in the finger to the knuckle, controlling his breathing as he focuses on spreading the lubricant around. A few quick pumps leaves him satisfied and he adds another finger. His eyes fall from Jon’s face, unfocused as he concentrates, and his middle finger slips inside. The tiny slick sound of flesh against flesh seems magnified in Jon’s hearing. Damian’s breathing pattern wavers for a time brief enough to only be picked up by someone with powers as he strokes his internal muscles into relaxing. Moving with care he spreads the lubricants against his inner walls.

When the tip of his middle finger brushes against his prostrate his body tenses then relaxes with a microshiver and his breath catches in a tiny gasp of pleasure. Jon whimpers. Damian returns his gaze to Jon’s face, his eyes half-lidded and dark with satisfaction at his reaction. He probes further, directly rubbing his fingertip across that sweet spot inside him and letting it tense his body and make his nerves hum with the stimulus. His chest is rising and falling faster now, his breaths starting to rasp in his throat. He adds a third finger and alternates stretching himself out with teasing feather light touches of his prostate to get him in the mood.

“Are you ready?” Damian asks as he moves his other hand down to palm at his own leaking erection.

“Yes.” Jon whispers in breathy awe at the sight of the lean god-like figure touching himself in front of him.

Damian frowns, barely a flicker.

“Yes what?” He asks.

Jon remembers Damian’s rule (he had a lot of them).

“Yes Damian.” He says, making sure to use the Wayne’s full name.

“Better.” Damian’s micro-frown becomes a micro-smile.

He reaches forwards and glides his hand along the curve of Jon’s erection. Jon’s eyes involuntarily close and he tenses against the sheets, a desperate moan leaving his lips. A few quick pumps of Damian’s hand leaves him fully hard and moaning against the sheets. Damian dips his thumb across the leaking head of it, swirling the precum across it, then lets go. He reaches for the belt with his other hand and pulls out the condoms. One swift moment has the packet out and open; these did contain kryptonite, a tiny amount of insulated synthetic kryptonite in case of accidents. Damian slips it on quickly but Jon still has to bite his lip at the brief pressure of his hands.

Damian smirks despite the heat in his cheeks and leans forwards, his hands briefly framing Jon’s head and throwing him into reassuring shadow, before his position shifts and he is guiding Jon’s erection into him.

Jon moans, loud and clear, at the feeling of heated thighs sweeping over him before his eager erection is being pushed into a welcome warmth. Damian bites his lip again as his beautiful, amazing, lithe body uncurls and he moves like oiled midnight as he slips Jon in to the hilt.

Jon’s breathing is hot and ragged as he watches the arch of Damian’s back as he takes him all the way in. Damian is trying to force his breathing to remain regular but that makes the scene all the more erotic for him. The tiny fractions of a lapse in control, so small only a Kryptonian or a Speedster could see, was something he found much sexier than any deliberate show because it was something Damian revealed only to him. He has to force his hands to remain at his sides rather than reach up to hold Damian’s hips steady as Damian caught his breath.

Another fraction of a gasp leaves Damian’s lips as he starts to move. He doesn’t meet Jon’s eyes, focusing on adjusting his position to get the smoothest ride without climaxing too soon. Anyone else could mistake his panting for exertion rather than his control slipping and Jon’s arousal twinges with desire for more stimulation. Damian’s eyes meet his, clearly showing that he isn’t going to be able to hold out much longer than Jon is and he moves. Jon moans and Damian’s breath catches in his throat. Damian raises himself up then slips back down, setting the pace to not allow either enough satisfaction to reach orgasm just yet. He shudders whenever he allows the head of Jon’s erection to brush against his prostate and the way his body tenses around him just makes Jon harder.

When Damian lets his head hang back and his eyes slide closed as he begins to moan in earnest Jon nearly orgasms on the sight alone. His hands actually raise from the bed before he forces them back down and Damian’s next gasp draws an answering moan from him. Damian knew both their limits well and he draws out the moment, his motions getting wilder as his leaking erection aches for release.

“Aaah…Aaaah…Fuck!” He swears and it is a signal they agreed on.

Jon raises his arms to hold Damian by the waist, leaning up to be able to capture his moaning mouth in a brief and messy kiss before he is clutching Damian close to him and bucking his hips up into his body. Damian moans and gasps and Jon is moaning louder. Damian’s riding and his thrusting sync to pound at that one tender spot until, with a long dry-throated gasp, warm cum splatters Jon’s stomach. Damian’s body tenses around him, as if deliberately milking out an orgasm and Jon climaxes. The ordered beginning of the evening dissolves into subconscious muscle twitches as they both ride out the wave of pleasure.

Damian rests his head against Jon’s shoulder, eyes closed and hot breath wafting across his neck, as he composes himself. Jon rests his hands against Damian’s back, feeling it rise and fall as Damian’s breathing slows.

“Feeling better?” Damian mutters.

Jon nods, then realizes Damian can’t see him.

“Yeah.” He says.

“Two showers in one day, the budget won’t like that.” Damian adds.

“Can’t you just shower back at the manor?” Jon asks.

“And give my press report smelling like sex? Certainly not, and you better not either.” Damian scolds and sounds more like his usual self.

He pulls himself up and Jon bites back a moan as their bodies separate. Damian stands, still perfectly confident, still seemingly so perfectly in control of his life.

“Shower before you head back to your room.” He orders and goes to gather their uniforms.

He feels a wave of nausea crash over him as he reaches for the cowl. It still looked like his father’s face, it was always going to. He felt like a perverse hermit crab, some vile worm slipping inside a shed skin left by a greater being instead of growing one of his own. His father’s ghost looms over him as a great black shadow, ready to crash into him with the same bone-breaking force he used to punish criminals. What would he think of this, his son taking it like a common back alley whore from a Kryptonian?

It takes all his training not to upheave his last three meals.

“Damian!” Jon is immediately at his side; Damian would scold him for using his super speed for something so trivial if he felt he could open his mouth without vomiting. “Are you injured?” He asks.

His eyes flicker as he x-rays Damian and finds no new injuries.

“My father would be so disappointed in me.” Damian says softly.

“Damian…” Jon wraps him in a big honest hug. A soppy and sentimental show of emotion; the kind of grand gesture Damian hated but seemed to come so naturally to Jon. “You know that’s not true. Your father loved you very much, if he could see you now he would say he was proud of you, like my father would!” Jon gives him the puppy dog eyes he was so good at. “I think you’re super Damian!”

Damian snorts.

“Appropriate, I think you’re batty.”

He stands and the painful cramping in his gut has resided, for now at least. He plants a small kiss on Jon’s cheek.

“Get dressed Jon.” He orders. “Batman and Superman have work to do.”

Jon smiles.

“Yes Damian.”


End file.
